The Oath

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Simon had been waiting outside with Jack and Wolf, whittling a stick into a point, and when the men appeared in the doorway, he looked up at Baldwin. ‘Well?’

Baldwin smiled, but his eyes showed how troubled he felt. ‘We are not to have any terms, it would seem. Our friend Sir Roger had already decided that the King is to be shown how low he has sunk in the estimation of the barons and people of the realm. There is no hope.’

‘What do you mean?’ Simon said. ‘Surely if he surrenders, he–’

‘The King cannot surrender, Simon. If he does, Sir Hugh will be executed, and the King will not have that. So instead he will defy Sir Roger, and that means that this will drag on a little longer. And what then? Who can tell.’

Simon clasped Baldwin’s hand, and the two men were silent for a moment. There seemed nothing to be said. They released each other and stood a pace apart, but it felt as though they were on opposite sides of a great river. Words could not bridge that gap. It was too profound.

‘Baldwin, be careful, my friend.’

‘You too, Simon,’ the knight responded. And then he tried a grin, and marched on, punching Simon’s shoulder with his fist in a rare display of affection.

Simon was walking to his horse when Wolf rose and lumbered across the area. Soon he was sitting, panting happily while being petted by a tallish man with a stained and filthy bandage bound about his lower shin. As Simon wandered past, he saw the man Herv Tyrel. He was with Otho, talking animatedly with the fellow stroking Wolf.

There was a shout. The King’s ambassadors were already preparing to leave, and Simon ran to his horse as Baldwin swung his leg over his own mount. Simon had his foot in the stirrup and was in the saddle before the Abbot had ordered his men to ride on. Sir Stephen had heard of the rapid departure of the men, and joined Simon now. ‘Are you intending to ride with them?’

‘Yes, I–’

‘Best to leave them, friend. They’re riding to the King. If you go too, they may think you’re trying to follow them – that you’re a spy. Wait a little. We will ride to the Earl of Lancaster’s men together.’

Simon nodded slowly, his eyes on the backs of the men as they rode out from the gates. One of them, he saw, was the man who had been with Wolf. He was a short way from Baldwin, who turned once, and stared at Simon as though in an effort to remember his old friend, and then they were gone.

First Saturday after the Feast of St Martin[43]

Neath Abbey

King Edward heard the group of men ride into the court. There was little doubt that it was them. Few enough men were coming and going from Neath Abbey at this time. Even those who had been bringing food in, demanding the most exorbitant sums in return, had dried to a trickle now they believed that the King would not be here much longer. No one wanted to be found there when Mortimer arrived.

He felt a fleeting urge to leap up and run to the men, to learn what they had managed to negotiate, but that would have been unseemly. Instead he motioned to his steward and tried to ask him to fetch Sir Hugh, but when he opened his mouth, no words would come. The steward gazed at him uncomprehendingly, as the King forced himself to relax, while his heart thundered. This terror of the future was unbecoming of a King. ‘Please. Sir Hugh. Bring him.’

It was the strain. The fear of the unknown was gnawing at them all, and the King was feeling it more than any.

It was a huge relief to hear the quiet steps and the quickly-closing door behind him. He recognised those footsteps.

‘Sire.’

‘Sir Hugh, we will soon know,’ the King said fondly. He knew that his favourite would not be permitted to live, if Sir Roger had his way. The Abbot had been instructed to tell Mortimer that if there was to be a surrender, the King desired safe passage for Sir Hugh and his other companions. King Edward II would hardly be expected to submit to the wholesale slaughter of his household. It was too ridiculous. And Sir Roger knew it. He would understand that there were limits, and would agree to perhaps hold Sir Hugh in the Tower where the King could visit him. Better that than exile. The thought of his friend being driven from his side for life was unendurable.

There they were! The envoys were approaching at last. King Edward put his hand out to Sir Hugh, and the two exchanged a quick look, before Sir Hugh took his hand away gently, and stood with his bitten nails concealed behind his back.

The Abbot and the others strode in, a herald preceding them. All bowed and knelt before their King, who motioned to them to rise. ‘Come, friends! No need for this today. Tell me, what is it to be? Do we agree to surrender, then? Is there safe passage and honour for us all?’

‘Your Royal Highness,’ the Abbot said, and there was a broken note in his voice. ‘I am truly sorry. We did all we could to secure some assurances.’

‘So, what are you saying?’ the King enquired, smiling still. ‘Please, do not keep me in suspense. What was his answer?’

There was a moment’s silence, and then Sir Baldwin stepped forward and bowed. ‘Your Highness, he refused all suggestions. He rejected your proposals and demands your unconditional surrender. There are no terms, no assurances, no guarantees.’

The King’s smile remained by an extreme effort of his will. ‘I see,’ he said. There was a horrible clenching in his breast that felt as though his heart was being squeezed, and his scalp tightened as though someone had grabbed it at the back of his skull and was dragging it over his head. ‘So, that is it, then? There is no more?’

‘Your son, my liege, he told us to tell you he loves you.’

‘Oh. He loves me. That is good,’ the King said. His breathing was more laboured now, and his chest rose and fell too quickly. ‘I…’ he began, then had to cough and clear his throat forcefully. ‘I am a little surprised by your news. Is there no hope of magnanimity?’

‘None,’ the Abbot said.

‘Then… then we must decide what to do,’ the King said helplessly, looking about him like a man thrown into a room he did not recognise.

‘Sire, there is only one thing we may do,’ Sir Hugh said urgently. ‘We have to leave this place and ride, fast, away.’

‘To where?’ the King demanded.

‘To Caerphilly,’ Despenser said, and to Baldwin’s surprise, his tone was almost pleading. ‘I was wrong to argue against it. We cannot find a ship now, but at the castle we could hold out for weeks, perhaps months. We have more men, and provisions. We should be secure for a while.’

The King looked up at him with a smile. ‘And it would allow you to see your son, my lord. Very well. If we remain here,’ he told the abbot, ‘we would run the risk of demolishing your lovely Abbey, my friend, and I would not see it thrown into ruin. It is no place for a battle.’

He stood, a little shakily. ‘My friends, I thank you all for your forbearance and loyal service. I think now we should ride to Caerphilly, where we can take our places in the last, sad days. What comes after, God only knows.’

First Sunday after the Feast of St Martin[44]

Neath Abbey

That morning was heavy with rain. Even as they prepared themselves in the courtyard near the cloisters, the men were drenched.

Baldwin was wearing his armour with more discomfort than he could recall at any other time. At least on duty in Acre, he had been younger, and there was no rain to contend with. It had been more a case of worrying about sand getting in under the throat and at the back of the neck – because even a small amount of rough sand between aketon and skin was enough to create a bloody sore in half a day. Today, though, the collar of his pair of plates kept touching his bare throat – and it felt as if his flesh must freeze to the metal each time. His clothes beneath were already clammy and damp, and the coldness of the metal was transmitted perfectly through the wet clothing, which meant that the ride today was going to be deeply uncomfortable as well as dangerous.

He wasn’t scared. Baldwin was too experienced a warrior to feel fear, but he did have misgivings about setting off now, when they had been away from Caerphilly for so long. He only prayed that the castle was not already besieged. He wondered how Roisea would cope, if so. She was a lovely-looking woman – the sort who could all too easily become the target of men-at-arms with time on their hands.

They mounted, and Jack whistled to Wolf, who was idling away his time near the midden heap over at the wall’s edge. The mastiff came at a wary trot when he heard the summons, thinking he might be scolded for rooting about in the rubbish.

When all were mounted, the King at last appeared in the doorway. Over his left shoulder, Baldwin saw Sir Hugh le Despenser, looking pale and fretful, his hands worrying at his face as though he was scratching at an itch near his mouth. Beside him stood Baldock. He was in little better state than Despenser.

‘My friends,’ the King called, and his voice was firm, if not so loud as once it had been. ‘There can be little doubt that there is no time for us to lose. You know that we cannot find a ship to take us to safety in Ireland, and no matter how we try, the rest of my people seem reluctant to come and help me wrest my kingdom from traitors and thieves!’ He stopped, took a deep breath, and continued more calmly again, ‘And so, we must ride. We go to Caerphilly. I do not doubt that it is strong enough to survive the worst onslaught that the foul Mortimer can throw at it.’

He looked around at all the knights and servants who stood watching, listening carefully. Baldwin glanced about him too, and saw so many taut, pale faces that it was brought home to him again just how dire their situation had become. No one there believed that the King could escape capture, and that would mean many of the men here would suffer the indignity of arrest and of gaol, of possible forfeiture of lands and goods, the disinheritance of their children, or even death. They all knew the position. And there was little that could be done to save themselves.

‘Friends, I call you, because you are all my friends. You have stayed with me through all the recent turbulence which has so shaken my reign. I love you for the courage you have displayed, for the conviction in the rightness of my position that you have shown me. I honour all of you. But it is time, for some, to leave. Any man among you who decides he does not want to come to share my fate, I release from my service. I do not demand that you join me in this dark time. Better that any who feel they have fulfilled the duty which honour has demanded, should leave now.’

Baldwin watched, and suddenly felt a warmth flushing at his eyes. He was forced to wipe at them with a gloved hand as he realised that not a man was moving. All the knights, men-at-arms and servants were determined to remain with the King, no matter what his fate. He saw Robert Vyke not far away, and the man was weeping, his head bowed, but when he looked up and caught Baldwin’s eye, there was no embarrassment. He was crying with pride, not fear.

The King looked about him with a look of mild bafflement on his face. ‘Are you all moon-struck? My friends, I am most humbled by your support. I will do all I may to protect you as you have served me. Thank you. Thank you all.’

He strode down the steps and climbed upon his destrier, sitting with a rigidly straight back. His herald mounted too, and set the King’s banner in its rest, and when Sir Hugh and all the others were sitting in their saddles, Edward nodded, and the whole cavalcade moved off and through the gates.

But not many saw, as Baldwin did, the tears that poured down the King’s face as he rode from the yard to the fate which no one could foresee.

Near Llanharry

Simon had already been riding for three hours that morning, and he regretted it immensely.

From dawn, there had been a torrential downpour that seemed to pause occasionally only in order for it to continue its onslaught with renewed vigour. It felt as though the deluge was battering their very souls. The misery of staggering on under that terrible wall of water sapped their energy and it was only by an enormous effort of will that the footsoldiers were able to tramp onwards. Among the Hainaulters, Simon heard many men swearing bitterly in French and other, incomprehensible tongues. For himself, he was too depleted to bother swearing.

Then the clouds cleared again, and he wiped his face on his sleeve before staring about. There were trees on his right, then a clearing off to the left, with pasture or common land ahead. Just more of what they were used to.

‘Enjoying the ride, Bailiff?’ enquired Sir Charles.

‘Loving every minute of it,’ Simon muttered.

‘I do not think,’ Sir Stephen said with deliberation, ‘that I have ever been quite this wet before in my life. Nay, not even in a bath – for then at least my head has remained dry. This,’ he continued, tugging his felt hat from his head and slapping it on his thigh, making it instantly shapeless, ‘this, is sheer, unadulterated wretchedness.’

They were riding a short distance behind Earl Henry of Lancaster; the Earl and his household knights rode in an armoured group bunched together as though they were clustered under a shelter.

And then Simon sat up, staring ahead, just as the rain began to pound at the land all around them again.

‘What is it?’ Sir Charles asked quickly.

‘I thought I saw something,’ Simon said. But he did not add the words that sprang to his lips: Baldwin’s dog Wolf.